


who are you, really?

by lethargicProfessor



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Morally Ambiguous Character, allen walker is a liar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 05:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19660324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/pseuds/lethargicProfessor
Summary: Allen can be anything he wants to be.





	who are you, really?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not to be reproduced or reposted on any site or app other than Archive of Our Own, Tumblr, and WordPress (LPWrites/LethargicProfessor). This work is available for free on these sites, and is **not to be used or sold for profit by any third parties or apps.**

“Who are you?” Mana asks, in one of his more feverish moments. His cough has been getting worse, but Allen was able to buy some medication before the circus left the city.

“I’m Allen,” the boy responds, and wrings the damp cloth in his hands as best as his red hand will allow. He places it on Mana’s brow and watches as his eyes focus for a second before glazing over again.

“Is that who you want to be?” Mana asks. Allen shrugs, used to his delirium, and continues to fuss over him. 

“You could be anyone you want,” Mana continues, and his eyes slide closed. “Isn’t that great? If you get tired, you can just change.”

He lapses into a coughing fit so harsh it makes Allen’s throat twinge in sympathy, the rattling breaths taking too long to ease into manageable wheezing. He’s getting worse, and Allen doesn’t know what to do.

Mana covers his face, and whimpers for his brother. A flash of envy stirs in Allen’s chest before he squashes it, tugging the ratty blanket down to press another cool cloth to Mana’s face. 

“Who are you?” Mana asks again; it’s been happening more often, these lapses in memory. The doctor Allen managed to speak to says it’s a sign of deterioration. Allen doesn’t have to be well-learned to know what that means..

“I’m Red, old man. I told you.” He replies instead, and watches Mana’s eyes slip shut. HIs mouth twists into a grimace, and he coughs wetly into the blanket.

“You’re such a trickster,” Mana breathes, calling Allen by a name he doesn’t quite register. No matter. The delirium would pass, the fever would break. They would go back to normal, soon.

* * *

The river that runs behind Mother’s house offers Allen company when Baba is too much, Master Cross is in his brooding moods, and Mother can’t be bothered. It’s a little thing, more a stream than a river, and he watches the frogs and insects for hours. Sometimes, he sits at the edge, knees buried deep into the mud by the banks, and stares at his reflection.

His hair is shocking white, contrasting against his brown skin, the wound across his face still raw and red. He looks more like a monster than he ever did when he was with Mana, and he deserves it. 

He looks like a stranger, even to himself. His eyes are haunted, and not just from the injury. There are deep circles under his eyes, and the other scrapes and scratches from that night are still healing. His cheeks are fuller, though, than he’s ever seen them. Mother and Baba make sure he receives second helpings of everything, and his body’s responding in kind.

He squints at his reflection and the stranger squints back.

“Who are you?” He asks his reflection, reproachful, and watches his reflection return the question.

He is not Mana, he knows this, despite copying his mannerisms, his way of speech. Mana would not be forgotten. Mana would live on in him, one way or another. He deserved it far more than the orphaned brat Red ever did.

He is not Cross, certainly, though he finds the man’s attitude enviable. He wants to reach the point of not giving a damn like that someday. For now though, he is still tender. Still new in a way he thought he had left behind as Red. 

Baba? Probably not, though he enjoys the innocence the man possesses. It must be nice, he muses, to find joy in the simple things. 

Nor is he Mother, all sharp eyes, bitter but warm like the tea they make him drink to fortify him through his illness.

No, none of those quite fit the boy who went by Red, once. Allen though? Allen can be anything he wants to be. 

So he will.

* * *

He settles into the Order surprisingly fast. It’s almost like the circus, in a way; a large group of people coming and going, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It’s charming. Familiar.

Lenalee is usually around to guide his way, but she was called away to a mission. Allen manages, though eventually his sense of direction betrays him. He wanders in circles until he spots familiar white uniforms and approaches them with a smile, the kind Mana taught him to use in crowds. 

“Hello!” He greets, and tilts his head in just the right way, smile warm and friendly. The easiest way to get most people to relax. He sees the two finders glance at each other, and the one on the left smiles automatically. 

The other, a more surly fellow, scowls. Allen can see the finder’s eyes travel from his hair down the scar, faded but still prominent, to the red arm he left uncovered. He was told it would be fine in the Order, but Allen knows the look he receives.

Disgust. Wariness, maybe an outright flash of hostility. The usual, then. 

Allen continues to smile, drawing into himself. The smaller and less dangerous he seems, the more likely others are to assist. It’s a shame he’s grown, he misses using his short height to his advantage. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m a bit turned around. Would you mind terribly pointing me in the right direction?”

The finder on the left, the more open one nods and begins to speak, but the other cuts him off with a frown. “And who the hell are you?”

Who, indeed? 

Allen considers, briefly, if Baba’s charm would be useful in this situation, but decides against it. Innocence is a gift, but too much would make these finders think he was weak, easy to take advantage of. Cross, loathe as he is to admit it, is a better option.

“My name is Allen Walker,” he says, and shifts, just a tad, to stand a little straighter. “I’m a new exorcist here.” 

Not too much information, but enough for them to understand their position. Allen isn’t dumb; he’s aware of the tension between finders and exorcists, but is also fully aware that they grudgingly work together. If he were the kind of person to snitch, the finders would be reprimanded. (Not that he would, but they don’t know that. They only see what he wants them to see.)

The standoffish finder shrugs, stepping back. Wary, but resigned. He knows where they stand. The open one, on the other hand, smiles and holds a hand out, introducing themselves. Having stepped across the boundary, the rest is easy to navigate.

Master Cross was strict, and sometimes harsher than he had to be, but Allen had to give it to the man. He knew how to read people, and taught it well. He would thank him next time he saw him, and if he thanked him with his fist then, that was his prerogative.

* * *

“I can’t read you, Allen.” Lavi jokes, sprawled out on the seat in front of him. Krory’s sound asleep, and the only sounds around them are the rattling of the train and his snores.

“What do you mean?” Allen says. He should have said the same to Lavi, if he were an honest person. Lavi’s certainly more than meets the eye, harder to read. As soon as he thinks he gets it, he’ll say or do something that sends the theory crashing down.

They’re alike, in a way, but that’s all Allen can manage. 

Lavi grins, and his eye glints with something almost familiar. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Who are you, Lavi?” Allen is casual, following Lavi’s lead, watching him for any tell. Everyone has a tell; it’s only a matter of finding it. 

“I’m a Bookman.” He’s glib, holding his gaze for a second before stretching out more, exaggerated, shutting his eyes and setting his hands under his head. “What about you?”

“I’m just Allen.” It’s a well-practiced lie, worn and comfortable, like his own clothes. Anyone would consider it true.

But Lavi hums, that look in his eye calculating. He’s a liar too, but for different reasons. It’s very interesting. “Just Allen, huh?”

“Just Allen.” His smile is bland, self-aware. He knows Lavi knows, which is fine. He learned in the circus, then with Mana and Cross, that liars know their own.

Lavi chuckles, and sits up to brace himself against the window, pulling out a book from his bag. “Sleep, I’ll keep watch.”

It’s less boisterous than what he had seen from Lavi, but expected. Allen considers it an acknowledgement, settles into his seat, and tries to sleep. He lets Krory’s snores lull him, and hopes someday he’ll manage to incorporate the ease in which Lavi lies into his own arsenal.

* * *

“I hate people like you,” Kanda seethes, holding his sword to Allen’s neck. Through the haze of pain, Allen would agree. 

“You never sugar coat things, do you?” He grunts, the sword of exorcism soundly embedded into the stone behind him, pinning him down. The pain begins to dull, slowly, and he lets himself take a breath. The battle is over, for now.

Kanda spits, putting Mugen away, letting the remains of the Level 4 crumble around them, watching Allen struggle with his sword. “Self-sacrificing asshole.”

Allen’s head is pounding too much to come up with something proper, so he grunts and swears until he’s dislodged the sword enough to fall off the stone. Kanda watches him like a hawk the entire time, but doesn’t lift a finger to help, that bastard.

“If you do that again, I’ll kill you myself,” he warns, and Allen knows Kanda is earnest. He isn’t lying, his gaze sharp. He may bluster and threaten with Lavi and the others, and that’s who he is, but he’s never been serious about hurting his fellows.

Not like now. 

“Noted,” Allen breathes, letting his arm return, the pain in his chest pulsing but no longer burning. “I’ll remember that next time I try to stab myself again.”

Kanda rolls his eyes, the anger returning to a simmer as he stalks away to check on Marie. His shoulders are stiff, and he shouts at Marie as he approaches, but it’s all bluster. Allen is the danger, in his mind, and Allen can see it in the way he keeps his hand on his sword, angled just enough to where he’d be able to attack behind him without looking.

The chuckle escapes him, unbidden, and he lets himself sink to the ground to rest. Kanda really will kill him next time something like this happens.

It’s odd, that the most closed off person he knows would be the most honest. Allen wonders if Kanda knows, if it’s intentional, or just a product of who he is. 

He idly wonders what it would be like, to be as earnest, to speak his mind regardless of how it may come off. Freeing, he guesses.

Lying is easy. Lying well is exhausting.

* * *

“Please don’t go.” Lenalee’s voice is steady despite the tears, and Allen marvels at her resolve. Selfish resolve, but resolve nonetheless. “Stay with us. We can fix things.”

She’s a bad liar. She knows there’s nothing to fix at the Order, not with the threat within its walls. But she would rather lie and hope than accept the truth. It’s human.

Allen turns his back on the gate and hugs her, feeling her stiffen before returning the hug. Her fingers cling to his shoulders, the blunt nails digging into his skin, and her breath begins to shudder as she holds back tears. “Don’t go,” she whispers, and it’s raw and honest as Lenalee can be. 

“I can’t,” Allen says, and rubs his hand across her back, soothing like Mother used to do when the nightmares plagued him, before he learned to deal with them. Lenalee’s breath steadies, and she looks up at him.

It’s not a very pretty sight, her eyes red and puffy. She’s bitten her lip bloody, and it feels jarring to see the face of honesty so clearly. He knows how she feels about the Order, her family, her whole world, and how selfishly she will cling to it despite the dangers.

He’s lying to himself if he doesn’t admit he agrees, just a little. But Allen knows he would rather wander alone for the rest of his life than put that little spark of hope in danger.

He is a hypocrite, and a liar, but he’s never been a bad person. 

He presses a kiss to Lenalee’s forehead, and apologizes, giving her one last squeeze before stepping away into the light.

She watches, the tears flowing free, and asks for more than what he can give. “Promise you’ll come back home!”

“I promise,” he lies through the ache in his chest, and waves, shutting the gate behind him.

* * *

“Allen Walker,” the Earl laughs, the sound echoing in the chamber. “I never thought we would stand here, you and I.”

“Did you?” Allen grips his sword and grits his teeth against the lie, watching him warily as they stand their ground. It was always going to come down to this. No one would have thought otherwise. 

“I’ve been interested in you for a long time now,” he continues, and the Earl’s body shifts, almost rippling like water. It’s sickening, and Allen swallows acid as the Earl begins to walk towards him, casual, and his skin falls away. 

Allen sinks to the ground slowly, and watches Mana crouch to look him in the eye. The gold eyes of the Noah peer at him, and his hands – rough and warm and familiar - tilt his head this way and that, letting the Earl inspect him while Allen’s mind spins.

“Who are you, Allen Walker?” Mana breathes, fascination in those familiar eyes, his grip tightening as he holds Allen’s chin. “How do you tie into this?”

Allen feels himself shy away from the touch, struggling to put his thoughts in order, when a brush to his mind stills him.

_It’s my turn,_ it breathes, and Allen feels himself fade, sitting back as his body moves on its own. It lashes out, his sword swinging at Mana, just enough to make the man jump back, giving Allen’s body a chance to stagger up.

“That’s my sword,” Mana says, and his voice shifts to something wild, tinged with the delirium Allen knew so well. “How do you have my sword? Who _are_ you?”

Allen’s body laughs, and gold meets gold as the sword of exorcism clashes with the Earl’s own sword. “Who am I?” It echoes in Allen’s voice, and Allen feels dread fill his chest. 

He never wanted to find out like this.

Allen’s body presses closer, pressing the sword hard enough for Mana’s arms to begin shaking, and his voice, but not his, finally tells the truth.

“I’m you.”


End file.
